


A Bouquet of Flours

by konokomi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Gen, M/M, nothing brings people together like a screaming sack of flour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7133492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konokomi/pseuds/konokomi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Is that a flour sack in a diaper,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, looking at the offending thing with a Look saved only for dealing with Hanamaki and Matsukawa (and occasionally Oikawa, though the Look for Oikawa came with a lot more vein-popping and swearing).</p><p>“Don’t talk about our baby like that,” Matsukawa shot back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bouquet of Flours

**Author's Note:**

> this may be the dumbest thing i've ever written thus far. amazing

Mondays meant no practice which meant Hanamaki had the entire afternoon and evening after school let out to himself to do whatever he wanted to do and no one could tell him otherwise.

No one except his mother, apparently, who went out of her way to sign him up for a new parent class at the local community center every Monday for 12 weeks straight because she wanted her once only, now eldest child to be able to take good care of his soon-to-be sibling. He’d fought, oh yes, he had, but fighting against Touko Hanamaki was a fruitless affair and he was lucky to make it out alive and with his dignity still _mostly_ intact. Hanamaki had always looked more like his father, but his sense of wit and penchant for teasing the living _shit_ out of his friends was a trait learned from his mother out of nothing but the need to survive. Once he’d learned how to trade quips with her, it was a matter of honing his skill— and there was no better partner in crime than Matsukawa to make fun of Oikawa with.

He briefly considered sending him a message full of several distressed emojis in a row followed by a second message explaining his shit situation (shituation, if you will), but figured it would, just like verbal sparring with his mother, be completely and utterly fucking pointless. He loved Matsukawa, really, he did, but when it came down to it, a love of roasting was truly, truly blind, and if Hanamaki was the fat pig on the spit, well, so be it. Matsukawa would roast away.

And, honestly, he wasn’t even sure he _wanted_ to tell anyone this. How was he even supposed to explain it to the _class instructor_? Alone in a room full of expecting couples, learning how to not kill a baby using a fake baby that’s probably been handled by weirdos the likes of which he didn’t even want to fathom. That sure didn’t sound creepy at all. Oh, don’t mind me, sensei, I’m just here to observe. Add in a little heavy breathing and appropriate pauses for maximum red alert effect.

The plan? Don’t tell anyone then. Kindly stand Oikawa and Iwaizumi up when they ask if he and Matsukawa wanted to go anywhere after school (Matsukawa had declined too, anyway, saying he had ‘something to see through,’ and Watari looked a little smug but he didn’t have time to dwell on it), hop the train to Sendai, and sit through two hours of mother-induced pain. With any luck, he’d end up in a group of three or paired with a single mom-in-training for a stress-free twelve weeks of pseudo parenting.

He should have known by now that the Powers That Be were never that kind to him.

Trying not to get noticed as he slipped into the classroom barely on time was an easy enough feat to accomplish, and he decided to be less of a dick and take a seat in the back of the classroom to avoid blocking anyone’s view. Volleyball player problems, you know. He looked around at the other ‘students’ and felt _severely_ underprepared at the number of notebooks and parenting guidebooks he saw around him. Fuck, he didn’t even bring a _pencil_. It all seemed pretty hands-on in the course description; why bother taking notes?

It felt a lot like a normal day at Seijou, all things considered. Sensei entered the room, they all stood up, bowed, and then took their seats again. She wasn’t what Hanamaki was expecting— too young, maybe? She was pretty, with long, jet black hair pulled back in a high ponytail and defined cheekbones that would cause a titter in the heart of any man even half as gay as Hanamaki— but she had a professionalism about her without sacrificing the feeling of motherhood that exuded from her. Nothing out of the ordinary from a usual day in class, just about, like. Babies and stuff.

Until he heard an all-too-familiar voice say, “Sorry I’m late, sensei, I got distracted by a dog—” as two long legs carried an equally long torso into the room and thick eyebrows raised as his eyes met Hanamaki’s.

“Ah,” said the instructor. “You must be Matsukawa.”

“Yeah,” Matsukawa replied, breaking eye contact with Hanamaki to nod at the instructor. “That’s me.”

And Hanamaki’s bowl of cheese puffs went sailing overdramatically out of his lap as he reached for the remote, all his tupperware came tumbling down out of the cabinet upon opening it, the phone charger is just too damn short and his phone keeps falling off the armrest of the couch—

Is _nothing_ easy?

The answer seemed to be no, because Matsukawa awkwardly wormed his way through the tables all the way to the back of the room to sit next to Hanamaki, who had since put his face in his hands and contemplated the improbability of a black hole opening up under his seat and sucking him in, never to be seen again. Matsukawa was still in his school uniform, still had his school bag, and Hanamaki wanted to cry because that was _maybe_ not the best attire to show up to a fucking _parenting class_ in.

He told him as much, after a small amount of whining and _what the fuck are you here for_ ing.

“What the fuck are you here for?” Literally. “And why are you— why didn’t you _change_?”

“I fell asleep on the bus home,” Matsukawa replied, blinking slowly. “So I didn’t have time to change before I had to be here. I paid 5000 yen for this class, dude, I’m not missing it.”

“And _that’s_ my next question,” Hanamaki continued as the instructor kept on taking roll. “Please tell me you didn’t knock someone up.”

Matsukawa snorted. “You know I’m as pure as freshly fallen snow, ‘Hiro.” The look Hanamaki gives him is a mixture between disbelieving and perplexed. “Don’t look at me like that, you know personally every place my dick has been.”

“Your hands?”

“Indeed.”

“It’s not really information I _wanted_ to come across, you know.”

“Don’t blame me, blame training camps.”

“What _ever_.” That smirk did look good on Matsukawa. Always had. “ _Why_ are you here? I’m only here because I lost a fight with Mom over it, but last I heard from her, your mom _definitely_ isn’t pregnant or anything. I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t even be _allowed_ around babies.”

Matsukawa’s gasp was as fake as it could possibly be. “I’m offended. I’ll have you know, babies love me.”

“They’re probably just in awe of your giant eyebrows.”

“Don’t hate on my eyebrows. That’s low.”

“I will hate on the eyebrows as much as I want.”

“Stone cold.”

“Hanamaki-kun, Matsukawa-kun, if you could kindly stop talking with each other and pay attention to the directions for the project you’ll be doing for the duration of the class, it’d be _much appreciated_.”

Hanamaki winced at being called out by the instructor in front of the class, and looked up at her before raising a hand apologetically. “Sorry, sensei.” She narrowed her eyes behind her glasses and he added, “Won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not,” she replied. “I understand the two of you are... _younger_ than most of the other couples, but try to act with the same amount of maturity during class time.”

“Oh, uh, we’re not actually—” Another cold stare shut him down and he pressed his lips together tightly. On top of having to actually _be there_ , now everyone was under the impression he and Matsukawa were a couple stupid kids that probably fucked up somewhere and had to learn How To Dad before they royally fucked anything else up. Which would have been fine if they’d been perceived as _friends_.

“Thank you,” the instructor said, curt, before walking back behind her desk at the front of the room and bending over to pick up a large storage container. “Now, as you’re all aware, the purpose of a class like this is to teach you how to care for a baby. Ideally, you’d each receive a baby doll programmed to act the part of a newborn. _Unfortunately_ , due to budget cuts and an _incident_ involving the last class, we don’t have any baby dolls to give you. Instead,” she opened the lid on the container and pulled out a decent-sized sack of flour, “we have these. But don’t worry— they still scream.”

As if on cue, the little flour sack started to goddamn _wail_ , leaving her no choice but to rock it to calmness again. Matsukawa snorted and Hanamaki couldn’t admit under oath that he didn’t giggle a little at the idea of having to care for a sack of flour for twelve weeks, but they weren’t the only ones. The couple at the table next to them were snickering behind their hands as well as a couple closer to the front. It was reassuring to know that even the Real Adults were losing their shit over a screaming flour sack baby.

“Alright, settle down,” the instructor said, a hint of a smile even _she_ couldn’t hold back in her voice. “I’m going to pass one out to every couple. Is anyone in here expecting twins?”

One couple’s hands raised into the air and she headed over to talk to them semi-privately, and Hanamaki used the distraction to shrug Matsukawa’s arm off his shoulders (it had ended up there somewhere around the time the instructor had mistaken them for a couple) and ask him again why the _fuck_ he was in a class like this.

“Why the _fuck_ are you in a class like this, anyway?” Literally. Again. “You never answered me.”

“Okay, so,” he started, leaning back in his chair until the front legs were off the floor, “we have Mondays off, right? I guess I complained in the vicinity of Watari one too many times so he suggested I find something to do with my day off. So I told him,” he stopped to fight off a laugh, “so I told him, ‘shit, Watari, sign me up for a class or something, I don’t care.’ And he signed me up for this one and then made _me_ pay. What a shit.”

“I can’t tell if it’s Yahaba or Oikawa that’s rubbing off on him more,” Hanamaki replied, resting both elbows on the table in front of him and leaning forward. “Well, that explains it, I guess. And we’re partners now too, no thanks to you.”

Matsukawa snorted. “I’m not the one gaying all over the place all the time.”

“I do not gay _all over the place_ , I gay in my personal bubble.” Not that he and Matsukawa ever really shared what was considered Socially Acceptable Personal Space, but whatever. “It’s probably your eyebrows’ fault.”

“Hey, don’t blame the eyebrows. They’re innocent.”

“Those eyebrows have committed so many sins even God himself couldn’t save them.”

They both giggled, unaware of the instructor standing in front of their table until she dropped one of the flour sacks on the table, startling both of them. “Let’s hope your god can save _you_ , Hanamaki-kun, because you and Matsukawa-kun have twelve weeks to keep this flour sack safe and sound. I better not see so much as a _scratch_ on it. Understood?”

“Understood,” Matsukawa said.

“Crystal clear, sensei,” Hanamaki said at the same time.

“Excellent. Don’t let me down.” She turned on her heel and strutted back to the front of the classroom, ponytail swishing behind her with the movement. “Now that everyone has their ‘baby,’ let’s talk about one of the first essentials of childcare: changing a diaper.”

* * *

Watching a bunch of bewildered couples leaving the community center carrying diaper-clad sacks of flour was a sight Hanamaki both wished he never had to see and was happy he didn’t miss. His and Matsukawa’s own shoddily diapered sack was nested safely in Matsukawa’s arms as they hurried to catch the train back home. They both made it right before the doors closed, sack still in tact even though they’d both tripped over the turnstile and knocked into each other.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done in my life,” Hanamaki said, pointedly ignoring the strange looks they were getting from the other patrons on the train. In their defense, it wasn’t every day you saw two teenage boys carrying around a sack of flour with a diaper on it, but it didn’t give them a right to _ogle_. Leave them to their flour sack in peace, god dammit.

“Not counting the time we gave Kindaichi the Talk? Complete with visuals?”

“Okay, I haven’t been able to look at a banana without cracking up since, but this definitely takes the cake. We’re freaking—” he motions at the sack, “we’re freaking carrying around a sack of flour for twelve weeks and pretending it’s a baby. God, I don’t even know how custody works. Who gets it first? Do we switch off or something?”

Matsukawa shrugged. “You could just stay over. We can play house with our, uh, child.”

Hanamaki grinned despite himself. “I can’t wait to wake up at three am to rock-paper-scissors you for who gets to take care of the screaming kid. Speaking of, we should give it a name. It? Him? Her?”

“I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

“Daughter it is. Now she just needs a name.”

For a good while, the only sound between them was the clicking of the train on its tracks and the other passengers, both of them deep in thought for the perfect name for their new baby. Something simple, yet elegant. Something powerful. Something adorable.

They both looked up at the same time with the same mischievous look in their eyes.

Maybe something just to annoy someone else.

* * *

Oikawa tapped his foot on the gym floor and looked up at the clock on the wall again before huffing. “Where are Makki and Mattsun?” he said, frowning. “It’s not like either of them to be late to practice.”

“They’ve been acting weird all day, now that I think about it,” Iwaizumi pitched in, pulling his arm across his chest to stretch it out. “They kept passing something back and forth all day between classes, according to what I heard. I don’t know what it was or why, but I try not to question them too much. Gives me a headache.”

“Everything gives you a headache, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah, you most of all.”

“Rude!”

“PDA jar,” Kunimi said flatly, as always, and Oikawa squawked.

“How does that count as public displays of affection?!”

Kunimi hummed. “Public displays of anything I find disturbing. You flirting with Iwaizumi-san by bickering is disturbing. 100 yen into the jar.”

Sweating visibly, Kindaichi tried to help by saying, “Kunimi, those weren’t the rules of the PDA jar, like it’s just, you know,” and trailing off, too embarrassed to say what exactly the Stuff was, red in the face.

The PDA jar, also known as the ‘Team Meal Fund, Courtesy of Oikawa,’ started out as a way to make fun of Oikawa and Iwaizumi after they finally started dating. Hanamaki and Matsukawa had been the brains behind it, naturally, because they’d _honestly_ believed that the two of them would at least _act_ like they were dating _sometimes_ , but to both of their surprises, absolutely fucking nothing changed.

That was unacceptable, and an innocent jar to pay for indecent displays of homosexuality during practice turned into a way to make Oikawa’s life hell in particular. Not because they disliked him, of course. He was just too fun to tease. Thus began the tradition of someone on the team yelling out, “PDA jar!” whenever Oikawa and Iwaizumi so much as bumped into each other on accident.

“This is tyranny, you know!” Oikawa huffed. But before he could complain any further, the team’s attention was pulled to the gym doors opening and Matsukawa and Hanamaki walking in.

Pushing a stroller.

“Sorry we’re late,” said Hanamaki, as though nothing was out of the ordinary. “You wouldn’t _believe_ how hard it is to change a diaper on a urinal.”

“Not enough space to work, really,” Matsukawa added. “So, what did we miss?”

The air in the gym grew stale as everyone stared at the two of them, Yahaba’s lips pressed together tightly while Kyoutani’s eyebrows furrowed even more than usual (the impossible made possible by the antics of the Meme Team). Kunimi’s eyebrows _raised_ enough to be noticeable as Kindaichi looked back and forth between the duo and the rest of the team. Oikawa’s mouth hung open from his cut-off statement, and Watari looked like he needed a stiff drink.

The savior of the awkwardness was Iwaizumi.

“Is that a flour sack in a diaper,” Iwaizumi deadpanned, looking at the offending thing with a Look saved only for dealing with Hanamaki and Matsukawa (and occasionally Oikawa, though the Look for Oikawa came with a lot more vein-popping and swearing).

“Don’t talk about our baby like that,” Matsukawa shot back.

“God, Hajime, I can’t believe you’d just insult our _child_ like that. What did our beautiful daughter ever do to you?” Hanamaki said as a follow-up, squatting down to pat the sack’s ‘head’ and coo at it. “Uncle Hajime is a meanie, isn’t he?”

Iwaizumi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Just— Just get to practice. I’m not even gonna ask.”

“You sure you don’t wanna know? It’s a fun story.”

“Super fun.”

“I want to hear it,” Kunimi chimed in, clearly doing whatever necessary to stall practice and stand around for a little while longer.

After a brief argument among the entire team, Matsukawa and Hanamaki agreed to push their ‘child’ off to the side where it couldn’t get hurt and join everyone else for practice. Aside from the thought in the back of everyone’s mind as to why _the fuck_ the two of them were playing dads with a flour sack in the first place, everything was mostly normal. Oikawa threw a couple tosses too low and immediately apologized, as usual; the three of them made fun of Iwaizumi together until Matsukawa and Hanamaki focused their efforts on Oikawa alone, like always. Halfway through practice, everyone had forgotten about the flour sack sitting in a stroller off to the side, like it had never even happened.

And then it _screamed_.

It was a noise so shrill and loud that Kyoutani missed a spike entirely and took a set to the face, landing on his ass on the floor. All at once, everyone looked around for the source of the noise as Watari pulled Kyoutani back up onto his feet and let him dust himself off.

“Sorry about that!” Hanamaki called out over the scream. “Tooru just needs a diaper change!”

* * *

A month into the flour sack project, Hanamaki was more than thankful that his partner was his best friend. Sure, maybe with someone else he’d be taking the assignment more seriously, and even by himself he’d be less silly about it, but having Matsukawa around all the time to crack jokes and fuck around was nice. They’d taken to staying at each others’ houses, alternating every week whose house it was. Hanamaki’s mom was more than happy to accommodate if it meant her son was taking the class seriously enough (not to mention having an extra set of hands around while Hanamaki’s father was in America on business was always a blessing, and Matsukawa was more than happy to help out. “Your mom’s hot,” Matsukawa said when Hanamaki asked him why he’s always such a kiss-ass, and earned a pillow to the face for his troubles).

Playing house with Matsukawa was probably one of the easiest things he’d ever done, he thought to himself as he pulled the magic marker away from the sack of flour (now in a frilly pink onesie with a matching baby hat) and turned it around to show Matsukawa. “Ta-da,” he said. “Now our daughter has your eyebrows.”

“I’ve never been prouder,” Matsukawa replied, taking the sack from Hanamaki and setting it down in his lap. “Just wait until she grows up and all the girls fawn over her super attractive eyebrows. I’ll get to say, ‘She got them from me.’ And then _you’ll_ have to admit the eyebrows are sexy.”

“Over my dead body, Issei.”

Matsukawa waggled the aforementioned eyebrows.

“That just makes them even less sexy.”

“You sure thought they were sexy in first year,” said Matsukawa, not even bothering to hide the smirk on his face or in his voice.

Hanamaki gasped. “I can’t believe this,” he replied, putting a hand on his chest. “I can’t believe my own best friend would call me out on my innocent flash crush as a wee 15-year-old, in my house, under my own roof, on this, the day of my daughter’s wedding—” He snatched the flour sack back from Matsukawa’s lap and huddled it close to him, patting its ‘head’ reassuringly. “Just for that, you lost baby privileges. Poor baby Tooru is going to grow up and ask what happened to her second daddy and I’ll have to tell her, with tears in my eyes, that he ruined our relationship over eyebrows.”

“Babe, you know I love you.”

“It’s too late, Issei.”

“ _Babe_.”

“Don’t you ‘babe’ me.”

“Watch me, _babe_.”

And that’s how Hanamaki’s mom found them five minutes later tangled together on the couch, Hanamaki’s arm around Matsukawa’s head as he rubbed his head with his knuckles and Matsukawa laughed and tried fighting him off, the flour sack safely on the table. In the couple years the boys had known each other, Matsukawa had been over to the house plenty of times, and Touko had grown rather fond of him.

It also meant sights like this were common.

She cleared her throat and said, “Well, if you two aren’t _too_ busy, dinner’s ready. Make sure you don’t leave the baby on the table.”

After she left the room, a grin cracking across her face, Hanamaki made no move to let go of Matsukawa. “Dude, come on, let go,” Matsukawa said, wiggling in Hanamaki’s hold. “You know your mom is the best cook. Don’t deprive me of my God-given right to your mom’s cooking.”

“My mom’s cooking is a privilege, not a right. You have to earn it by not bringing up embarrassing stuff from first year.” He tightened his grip on Matsukawa’s head and added, “Or you can pay retribution by saying, ‘Takahiro, you are so cool and manly, and I am an unworthy fool who should know better than to bring up the details of the sordid past I swore never to speak of again, and also you are very handsome and every boy at school should be falling all over you as you walk down the hallway.’”

“I’m not saying all that.”

“Mom, don’t bother setting out a plate for Issei, he’s not eating tonight— don’t lick me, you shithead.”

“Fuck you, ‘Hiro.”

“Not in front of the baby.”

“Oh, _you_ —”

By the time they made it to the dinner table it was lukewarm.

* * *

A few hours later, the shrill screaming they’d grown so accustomed to rang out in the middle of the night and Matsukawa rolled over in bed, shaking Hanamaki awake. “It’s your turn.”

Hanamaki whined.

* * *

“Given the fact that it’s been seven weeks since our beautiful daughter came into our lives,” Hanamaki said at practice, ignoring the pained looks of weathered veterans to their bullshit apparent in everyone’s eyes, “we have decided it’s best if she got to know the rest of her family outside her fathers. So if any of you would like to hold Tooru-chan, don’t be shy. Step forward. Kyoutani?”

“Why the fuck do you think I’d want to hold your flour sack?”

“So that’s a no, I assume. Yahaba?”

“Uh, no thanks.”

“Watari?”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Christ, guys, try to show a little love to your niece. She’s very lucky to have so many supportive uncles and we’re trying to show her that even though the rest of you are a little _distant_ , you still love her. Matsukawa, help me out here.”

“At least humor us,” Matsukawa said plainly. “Come on, Oikawa, you know you wanna hold your namesake.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes. “If it’ll get you two to quit clowning around and take practice a little more seriously, sure, I’ll hold Tooru-chan.” He held his hands out expectantly as Hanamaki picked the sack up from the stroller and handed it to Oikawa. “There, see? I’m holding her.”

As soon as Hanamaki’s hands left the sack, it started screaming again, and Oikawa’s face contorted into an expression so shocked and ugly that Iwaizumi lost it laughing. Nobody else knew how to react, leaving Oikawa standing there pulling a nasty face, holding a shrieking flour sack in his outstretched arms.

Once Iwaizumi regained his composure, he grabbed the sack from Oikawa. Once it was safe in Iwaizumi’s arms, it stopped screaming, and everyone looked at it, then at Oikawa, then at Matsukawa and Hanamaki. “Oh, hey, it stopped,” Iwaizumi said. “I guess I’m good with kids.”

“That’s a coincidence,” Oikawa retorted, grabbing for the sack again. “It’s probably just broken—” More screaming. “What the hell?”

“Oh man,” Hanamaki said over the screaming, “she really does not like you.”

Iwaizumi took the sack back from Oikawa and it stopped screaming again. The corner of his mouth twitched upward as Oikawa frowned and pretended like he wasn’t bothered that a sack of flour apparently hated him. “I guess that makes me the favorite uncle,” Iwaizumi said, fighting off another laughing fit. “Tough luck, Oikawa.”

Oikawa’s lips pursed together in the way that they always did when he was heavily annoyed with something and trying to seem cool about it, and he _hmph_ ed before crossing his arms. “Whatever, Iwa-chan. I don’t care about Makki and Mattsun’s stupid flour sack baby anyway. We _still_ don’t know _why_ they’ve got the dumb thing. For all we know it could just be a joke!”

“First Iwaizumi insults our child, now you?” Matsukawa says, eyebrows tilted up in sorrow. “That’s harsh.”

“With that kind of attitude, Issei and I aren’t going to bring Tooru-chan around to see you guys anymore. The already-crumbling relationship between you and your beautiful, perfect niece is your fault. Know that.”

“I’ll live,” Oikawa deadpanned, then whipped his head to look at Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan! Put that thing down and let’s get to practicing already!”

* * *

With a swift kick, Hanamaki pushed open the door to the roof of the school with his foot, flour sack in his arms and Matsukawa in tow carrying both of their lunches. It was a beautiful day outside, and the perfect weather to crawl up to the roof and eat lunch while complaining about whatever was the topic of the week. In this case, topic of the last eleven weeks.

“I am so,” Hanamaki said, flopping down and setting the flour sack next to him, “fucking exhausted. I feel like Tooru-chan has been crying more and more during the night and all I really want is a _good night’s sleep_. Is that so much to ask?”

“If it makes you feel any better, you pull off the eye bags look really well,” Matsukawa supplied, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “God, I feel like I haven’t slept in weeks. When the hell did the tiredness hit us?”

“I don’t even know. The days are blending together.”

Matsukawa patted his leg reassuringly. “The good news is, we’ve got tonight’s class and we’re free. Just in time for summer vacation, too. Maybe we can talk Oikawa into giving us a couple days off so we can just stay in bed and sleep.”

“Fat chance, and you know it.” Leaning back on his hands, Hanamaki looked up at the bright blue, cloudless sky. “You know, even though I still kinda resent my mom for making me do this stupid class, I’m kind of glad I did. It’ll probably be pretty hard going back to sleeping alone after these last few weeks for sure, but…” He tilted his head to the side to look at Matsukawa. “I can definitely say there’s no one I’d rather raise a child with than you, dude.”

The tips of Matsukawa’s ears turned ever so slightly red, but the smile on his face was honest and open. “I could say the same for you.” Hanamaki grinned back. “That was _mad_ gay though, ‘Hiro.”

“Mm. It was pretty gay, wasn’t it?”

“Super gay.”

“We should probably make out.”

“That sounds like a fantastic idea.”

And when Hanamaki’s hand found its way into Matsukawa’s hair, and Matsukawa’s hands went right to Hanamaki’s face like they belonged there, some greatly sarcastic inner part of Hanamaki laughed and said, “Maybe that crush didn’t exactly _go away_ , eh?” and he couldn’t even argue with it. Matsukawa’s lips were soft and Hanamaki knew it was because his sisters (five of them, for fuck’s sake. That is an excess of sisters) always tried out their new beauty products on him, and he kind of smelled like girl perfume too for the same reason, but it was nice. It was familiar.

A grumpy sound of protest sneaked its way past Hanamaki’s lips when Matsukawa pulled back, far enough to break the kiss but close enough to still be considered Within Kissin’ Distance. “Okay, dude, we need to have a talk about what ‘making out’ means, because there was absolutely _no_ necking involved there. You didn’t even use _tongue_.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Matsukawa replied, chuckling, and Hanamaki wanted to bottle that sound and keep it forever. “‘s just that I wanted to say something super gay too.”

“Not sure if you can top that shitty confession of mine, but knock yourself out.”

“I had a crush on you too, first year,” Matsukawa said, and his grin widened as he rubbed Hanamaki’s cheeks with his thumbs. “Second year, too. And, what do you know, third year as well. Funny how that works.”

“We’re a fucking state, aren’t we.”

“Maybe, but at least we figured it out and raised a beautiful daughter together.”

“A beautiful daughter with your beautiful eyebrows. Truly amazing.”

“Oh ho ho, so you _do_ admit my eyebrows are sexy?”

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

So he did.

* * *

Absolutely nobody batted an eye the next day when they came into practice wearing matching ‘FULL’ ‘HOMO’ shirts, carrying a rainbow banner that said ‘WE’RE GAY’ on it, and they weren’t really expecting anyone to. But Kunimi _did_ scowl at the same time Watari looked _very_ pleased, so there was probably some money being tossed around as to when or even _if_ they were ever going to get together. In fact, no one gave much of a shit about anything gay-related; instead, Oikawa cleared his throat and asked, above all odds, where the flour sack was.

“Huh? Oh, right. Tooru-chan,” Matsukawa said. “We only had to do that for an assignment for a class at the community center. It ended last night, so we passed. No more Tooru-chan.”

“Shame, too. I liked being a dad. Oh well.” Hanamaki grabbed the tupperware from under his arm and opened it up, offering it to Oikawa. “Want a cookie?”

**Author's Note:**

> bonus:
> 
> “I don’t understand what’s so hard about this. You literally just have to throw a stick, Issei.”
> 
> “Alright then, asshole, let’s see _you_ land a flaming stick on a small boat in the middle of a pond with no problems. Oh, wait, _you can’t_ , that’s why I’m the one trying it now.”
> 
> Hanamaki snorted. “Well, either way, we’ve only got one match left, so you either make it this time or poor Tooru-chan won’t get the viking’s funeral she deserves. There’s no better way for our daughter to leave this world than up in flames, headed for the glory of Valhalla.”
> 
> “You’re so full of it.”
> 
> “I’m full of love for you, sweetcheeks.”
> 
> “Oh, _Jesus_ , no, do not,” Matsukawa said between laughs. “Let me light this stupid stick and throw it already. Alright. On the count of three.”
> 
> “One.”
> 
> “Two.”
> 
> “Three.”
> 
> The stick went sailing right over the tiny makeshift boat they’d made out of several cardboard boxes in Matsukawa’s garage before coming out to the pond nearby, plopping into the water and leaving the sack of flour disappointingly unburned.
> 
> “Well, fuck.”
> 
> “Seconded.”
> 
> The pond wasn’t very big and it would be easy to wade into it to grab the sack of flour and the quickly dampening cardboard, so Hanamaki turned to Matsukawa and said, “You wanna just make cookies or something?”
> 
> Matsukawa nodded. “Yeah. Let’s just do that. A delicious end for Tooru-chan.”
> 
> “So you’re gonna go get her, right?”
> 
> “Wait, _what_? Why me?”


End file.
